The Tale of a Crime Mouse in London
by Luna Bass
Summary: Ratigan's men take in a new recruit - a young swordsmouse by the name of Cecil Burns. But Cecil is not all that he seems. Focuses on Ratigan and his mice, as well as their adventures. AU, and a most likely one-sided RatiganxOC. NOT guy on guy! Multiple OCs.
1. Chapter 1

**Despite what it may seem, this is not a male-on-male fic. You'll see why. **

**This takes place in an AU where the movie never happened, and Basil and Ratigan are still in an ongoing feud.**

**I can't keep the names of any of Ratigan's henchmen straight, so I made up a bunch of OCs to replace the originals. Please forgive me. **

_Volume I: Cecil the Swordsmouse_

Gareth moved with quietness and discretion. Silently, the tough mice assigned to help him in his task followed close behind him.

The crime lord whose house they were about to invade was in debt to Professor Ratigan. He was late on paying it back. Tonight, they would make him an example of what happened to those who didn't pay their debts to the Napoleon of crime.

Gareth snuck under a window and peeked in. He wrinkled his snout in disgust at the sight of Master Black, as he was called, with a "she-mouse of the profession." Master Black was one of the fattest, greasiest mice he'd ever seen – you could grease a frying pan with him. Gareth motioned his men over. He signaled for them to ready themselves. He held up three fingers and started counting down. _Three, Two, One_ –

They leaped up and crashed through the window - Gareth first, followed by his two deputies, Max and Morgan. The rest of the hit mice followed, wielding revolvers.

The crime lord squealed like a little girl – the prostitute fled from the room. Black would've been killed instantly, if he hadn't ducked under his desk and called for his guards.

Apparently, he'd been expecting something like this – about twenty mice with weapons rushed into the room, ready for a fight. Gareth sneered at their inferior weapons – Professor Ratigan clearly paid his mice the best, out of all the rodent crime lords in London.

The henchmen all jumped into the fray, and the room was filled with smoke from the barrels of revolvers, loud gunshots, and – the clang of swords?

Gareth spun around from the corpse he'd just made. He saw Max, a short, skinny little weasel of a mouse, desperately fighting against one of Black's henchmen with his dagger. It didn't look like he'd last much longer.

The mouse in question wasn't very tall himself. He was a bit shorter than Gareth, who was only slightly higher than average. But he was well-built, and his fur, an off-white color, was probably the cleanest in the room. His eyes looked like green glass, and the look of patient determination on his face emphasized his apparent youth. And yet, he looked extremely skilled. Though his clothes were worn, they were practical and well made – with his blue cap and jacket, he cut a princely figure amongst the room full of thugs and dead bodies. Gareth was intrigued.

Drawing his own sword, he jumped in and took Max's place. The smaller mouse gladly took Gareth's own with a sigh of relief. The sharpened sewing needle of the white-furred mouse clashed with Gareth's long and flexible tailor's pin. As they struggled against each other's strength, Gareth raised an eyebrow in appreciation of the quality of his opponent's blade. "Nice craftsmanship. Did you make it yourself?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." The young mouse thrust from the side, and Gareth dodged the attack, parrying with his own sword. The fight continued for some time, pitting Gareth's experience against the white mouse's agility and skill.

In the end, when the rest of the fight was over, Master Black was dead and mutilated, and all the other henchmen had either fled or had been killed, Gareth and the white mouse were still dueling. The rest of Ratigan's mice were left staring dumbfounded at the two of them – one a full adult, filthy and gray, with clothes dyed brown from all the dried blood he'd had to wash out of it, and the other youthful, spry, and white as linen, dressed in blue and black.

At last, the young mouse disarmed Gareth with swift cut to his sword hand, kicking his blade out of reach. Instantly, Morgan, a huge lumbering mouse that one could almost mistake for a rat, appeared in front of Gareth, pounding his fist into his palm. The youth's eyes widened, and he moved in a defensive stance.

"Stop." Gareth pushed Morgan aside. "See here, lad. You're the last one standing here. You ain't got an employer anymore. Even if you run, no one'll hire you, because they'll know. And for a mouse as young as you are, that can't be good for your reputation, nor your, ah, career. But I'm willing to make a proposition. You willing to listen?"

Warily, the mouse nodded.

"See here – Professor Ratigan – he's our boss – is always looking for new skilled mice such as yourself. If you was to give him a demonstration of your prowess, well, I'm his lieutenant, an' I think he'd let you into his employ. I don't doubt you know who he is – and trust me, he pays well. When you work for the Professor, you're successful, you're feared, an' you're let into any bar you want. Lots of perks. So what do you say you put that sword away and come back with us, lad, eh? I know you've impressed me – you might just impress Ratigan."

Still in a defensive position, the young mouse glanced warily around at the crowd of henchmen waiting to pounce. "If I want to live, it doesn't look as though I have a lot of choice." His voice was soft and high. How old was he? Around seventeen? Barely more than a boy.

"That'd be correct, laddie. I'm not sayin' the job ain't a nice one. Drink pink champagne every day, or be riddled with holes. I think it's a pretty obvious choice, lad," Gareth offered.

The white mouse considered it for a few moments. He sheathed the needle into a long, thin leather pocket attached to his belt. Gareth noticed for the first time that the lad was using the eye of the needle as a handle. Clever.

"A good choice, son. What's your name?"

"Cecil. Cecil Burns."

~~~oOo~~~

Cecil was being led blindfolded through the pipes – his hands, however, were unbound, so he could reach his sword at any time. Not that he would – you'd have to be a complete idiot to try something like that in his situation. One didn't threaten Ratigan, or his men, without a considerable amount of reinforcements.

They reached the hideout and pressed on into Ratigan's study. The Professor waited there, and turned around with a grin. "Gareth! You're back in one piece! I trust you have my money?"

Gareth tossed a burlap bag onto Ratigan's desk with a proud smirk. "All twenty thousand quid, boss. As he owed."

"Excellent," Ratigan purred. He paused, and raised his eyebrows. "And I see you have a guest." His tone was light, but what was left unspoken was obvious – _If you've brought me something I don't like, I can always feed you to my cat._

Gareth yanked the blindfold off the white mouse's face. "This here is Cecil Burns." The young white mouse stared up at the great, infamous Ratigan. Gareth felt a wave of sympathy for the lad. Ratigan was always more huge and threatening than one expected. "He's one of the best swordsmice I've ever had the pleasure of fighting. He was working for Black when we found him – he agreed to come along with us, if he got the chance of working for you."

Ratigan skeptically raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Just how skilled?"

Max spoke up. "'E disarmed 'im, boss." Gareth raised his bandaged hand to corroborate this statement.

"Well," Ratigan drawled. His eyes bored down at the young white mouse, giving Cecil the shivers. "I suppose, I could give him a chance. Gareth," Ratigan snapped. His lieutenant jumped to attention. "You know that heist we have planned for Friday?"

"Aye, Professor."

"If...Cecil...here can take Morgan's place on that heist, then I'll let him into the fold. Let us call it a little test, shall we? Until Friday, he can stay with Doctor Jones."

Gareth nodded in agreement. Doctor Jones was the surgeon for Ratigan's men – it made sense to have a potential recruit stay with him until he proved himself.

"What say you to that, Mister Burns?"

All the mice in the room stiffened as Ratigan directly addressed Cecil.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Cecil slowly raised his head and briefly, boldly, met eyes with the most feared crime lord in London.

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Professor Ratigan."

All the other mice in the room breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Ratigan twisted his mouth into an amused smile. And yet, there was still a quiet, almost indiscernible tension between the newcomer and the Napoleon of crime. Their thoughts, respectively, as Cecil was escorted from the room:

_I don't care how terrifying you may seem. You're still just a mouse. I will treat you with just as much respect as I treated Master Black, perhaps more, but I refuse to fear you. I got into this business to be respected and admired out of infamy, not to be stepped down on. I won't let you step on me._

_You're an enigma, Mister Burns. An interesting, handsome, and obviously highborn puzzle. I will decipher you, my dear Cecil. I will figure you out, learn what makes you so intriguing. Learn why you speak like the aristocracy, learn why you are so bold. I want to learn everything about you. I'm sure it won't be boring._

~~~oOo~~~

**Next up! – Volume II: Cecil the Master Thief!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Volume II: Cecil the Master Thief_

Doctor Jones was a very small, stout mouse – his whiskers had a habit of twitching when he was nervous, which was most of the time. His fur was a pale brown, and he wore a once fine tweed suit that was now very faded, and covered in patches and mended holes. With ears almost as large as his head, he was the butt of many jokes at his expense among Ratigan's crew. Even so, Jones would patch up anyone's injuries and tend to anyone sick, even though he was a prisoner here. And that had earned Cecil's respect.

As a result, Cecil was the only one in the lair to treat Jones well, aside from Gareth's lack of cruelty, although the lieutenant never bothered protecting the surgeon from the others. The two developed quite a rapport – Cecil was considering sharing some rather important information with Doctor Jones, but wasn't sure if he was ready for it yet. Maybe after the heist on Friday.

Cecil himself was constantly being studied by Ratigan's mice – by Gareth in particular. For some reason, he felt drawn to the young mouse, and it made him review Morgan, his deputy. His recent performance had not been satisfactory lately. Morgan was drinking a lot, and showing some insubordination. And while trading insults and jeers were a common part of being teammates in the criminal world, Max was starting to complain that Morgan was a bit too hard with his punches for them to be friendly, and that he was too sensitive when it came to others returning snarks. Morgan was valuable to have, in that he was a very strong piece of muscle, but he seemed altogether too unhappy that the new recruit was taking his place on this job.

Gareth was starting to speculate on whether Morgan was planning on leaving the group. You'd have to be insane to try that with Ratigan's mice, of course – but then again, Morgan wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Gareth wondered if he should replace him as deputy.

Not that any of this was Ratigan's concern, of course. He was the boss – he made the big plans, he told them what to do, got them all rich, threatened them on a daily basis - everything a crime boss was supposed to do and did. Any minor power plays, squabbles, bickering, and dissent among the ranks of henchmen were a daily, commonplace matter. As Ratigan's right hand mouse, it was Gareth's job to deal with that.

But Ratigan was aware of all of it, whether Gareth told him or not. He was, after all, a very observant genius.

~~~oOo~~~

Friday late afternoon came. The crew were putting their gear together – Cecil had joined them. After all, it was best the newbie learned the routine as quickly as possible.

Gareth thoughtfully paused by Cecil's side as the white mouse pulled tight on his bootstraps. They were very shabby boots – they looked as though they had been pulled out of the garbage and then worn again by a growing adolescent for the past five years, and Gareth rather suspected that this was exactly what had happened.

"Here." Gareth handed Cecil a handgun. "I noticed you didn't have one. You can keep this one if you live through today – consider it an investment, or a gift, whichever's easier."

The lad took it appreciatively and stuck it in his belt. "Thanks. I'm better with my sword, though, so I prefer using a blade to bullets."

"That's a rare talent. But remember to keep a gun on you – could save your life one day. It certainly did mine."

Cecil looked up at him curiously, green eyes glittering. "Really? I'd like to hear that story."

"Maybe another time, lad. It's time for the briefing."

All the mice who worked for Ratigan gathered in the main room of the lair – they all sat or stood, as they were comfortable, facing the stage that Ratigan had cleared for himself.

"AH-hem." Ratigan rapped on his desk to gain their attention. The room fell quiet. Ratigan pulled out a pointer and pulled off a sheet that was covering an easel. The picture on it was a newspaper, stiffened with plaster. The headline read: _Ruby Worth __600,000 to Come to National Museum_.

"Today, we are after a very specific piece from the Mousedom of Britain Museum - the infamous Romanian Alucard Ruby. Now, despite what you may think, we are _not_ stealing this ruby to sell it. I have a more ambitious scheme in mind for it."

One might have expected eruptions of displeasure and protest at this announcement. There were none. You didn't interrupt Ratigan during one of his speeches.

"This I shall elaborate on once we have acquired it." He pulled the newspaper away, revealing a blueprint of the museum. "My plan is to enter the museum through the human entrances, and make our way to our own museum through the air vents. As the ordinary entrance is through the gutter system, there will be minimal security from this point of entry.

"We will stake out our target for five hours – Gareth, organize shifts – and enter the museum at two o'clock in the morning. There will be more guard patrols, considering the valuables the museum holds, but it will be easier, as we won't have to contend with crowds and numerous witnesses. We'll advance through the museum to the ruby's display using these three routes, splitting up into teams of five." Ratigan pointed out three routes through the halls outlined in red. "My orders as to dealing with the guards are as such – If they see you, kill them. If they _may_ have seen you, kill them. If they haven't, knock them unconscious. Just make sure no others are alerted, and put the bodies in a place where they won't be found for a while. Leave two of you behind at every bloody patch to clean it up – have them catch up with their group after they have finished. We will all rendezvous at the ruby's display case, then we all take the same route back to the air vents and make our escape as quickly as possible.

"In the event that you are spotted, and the police have been alerted to our presence, you will be split into two groups – Group A, and Group B. Group A will cover the escape of Group B, who will be fleeing back to the hideout with the ruby. Group A will fight off the police, until they have summoned too many reinforcements, and then they will scatter and retreat, meeting back up here. Gareth will sort you into your advance teams – One, Two, and Three – and also into your fighting and fleeing groups. Any questions?"

Max timidly raised a hand.

"Yes?" Ratigan snapped.

"Er, guv'nor, der's a diamond n' pearl necklace at thuh' place – iz worth abou' a million quid. Are we gonna steal dat too, boss?"

"Hmm... Perhaps another time, Maxwell – the ruby is here in Britain on loan, so we only have a limited time in which to steal it. The Marseilles necklace will be there indefinitely."

Max seemed dissatisfied with this answer, but he didn't dare voice his opinion.

Everything being settled, they all prepared, and set out to watch their target until the clock struck two.

How could they know that there was going to be a factor that none of them would have seen coming?

~~~oOo~~~

It was ten minutes to two. All the mice were tense. Cecil sat on the shingle of a roof, sharpening his sword. Gareth squatted next to him. He'd put Cecil in Team One, with him. He wanted to see how he performed fighting for them firsthand – being able to assess the newcomer was important.

He sheathed his sword, and took a deep tense, breath. Gareth wondered... "Where are you from?"

Cecil's ears pricked up, and he turned to Gareth. "Why do you ask?"

Gareth shrugged. "Just curious."

Cecil turned away. The breeze picked up, rustling the white fur on his head – he'd stuffed his cap in his pocket. He stared off into the distance at Big Ben, as if it held the end-all-be-all of everything. "I'm from the north."

Gareth snorted in amusement. "That's dog shit. You don't have the accent for it, and you speak too fancy." Cecil's hand went to his sword. "Issall right, lad. We all got our secrets here. You got yours, I got mine – we keep to ourselves."

Cecil relaxed, and his hand dropped. "All right, then."

The bell tolled twice. It was time. The human museum was across the street and down by a few buildings. Gareth motioned to the other mice in their team – Tells, a ginger, short nosed little field mouse from Scotland who could, surprisingly, pack quite a punch if antagonized, and with a very short temper. Then there was Potato, a squat mouse so named for his enormous muscles. Finally, there was Leslie, a freakishly tall and skinny dark brown mouse, with a propensity for appearing out of nowhere and looking eerily down at you, as well as a number of...talents...that Gareth would probably have questioned, were they not so useful.

"All right. We'll go down the drainpipes and through the gutters – our entrance is -" Gareth broke off at the sight of Cecil's raised eyebrow. "Yeh?"

"With respect, we'll be likely to be seen if we go by the gutters. And besides, there's a faster way." Cecil pointed down at the human carriages. Rather active for this time of night, Cecil noted with surprise. No matter – they were humans – they got up to all sorts of things.

"Are yeh crazy, new boy?!" Tells snarled. "We'll get run over! Or worse, splattered on the pavement!"

Cecil chuckled. His laugh was light, almost like a girl's giggle. "It's really very easy." Without another word, he jumped onto a clothesline, and ran down the thin wire, sliding over to a long nightgown, grabbing onto the collar, and slipping to the end; he started to swing back and forth, slowly gaining momentum. Carefully timing his swings, he finally leapt down into the street below, onto a carriage headed in the direction of the museum. His teammates were left with their mouths hanging open.

"Well," Leslie spoke quietly. "He is right."

Slowly, the mice all followed Cecil's lead, cursing and swearing as some of them almost fell off. They jumped to the curb as soon as the museum was reached.

All except Cecil stopped to catch their breath. The white mouse chortled in amusement, stopping short at Gareth's glare.

"Let's get a move on," the team leader said shortly, and he swiftly led the way to the air vents, leaving the others sprinting to catch up.

~~~oOo~~~

Ratigan watched Team One's advance through his binoculars. He doubted the stunt with the carriages was Gareth's idea – he was too cautious for that. The others didn't have nearly enough imagination to come up with this, so it must have been Cecil Burns.

Curious. He must have lived on the streets of London town for quite a while, then, to have this much confidence in moving through it. Then again, the same could be said of his own henchmen, so that didn't say much. No, it spoke of having been chased many times before – hopefully by the police, or some such other authority. If it turned out that Ratigan's new recruit had an enemy that Gareth had not been made aware of, then he would be punished for omitting such information. Severely.

All background thoughts aside, Cecil was very agile. He had leaped and slid with the grace of an acrobat, and his balance was admirable. He made all the others on his team look clumsy as they followed him onto the clothesline and down into the street.

Ratigan ordered his team to advance in their own fashion, and saw that Maxwell was finally doing the same. Very reluctant, that mouse. At least Gareth had managed to whip _some_ backbone into the pickpocket – he was insufferable before he had reluctantly joined their ranks.

Oh well. It was showtime.

~~~oOo~~~

The halls of the museum after hours were cavernous and dark. The five mice scampered quietly through the shadows – Gareth had memorized the route they were taking, and they all followed him. The others seemed to be taking turns glaring at Cecil – the mouse's white fur practically glowed in the dark.

Footsteps. The five mice stopped in their tracks, their ears pricked. A pair of guards in uniform rounded the corridor; one of them turned in their direction and frowned.

In an instant, the guard was run through cleanly on Cecil's blade – the other had his throat cut by Leslie. With what weapon, exactly, none of them ever saw. The two enemies died in near-silence.

Gareth nodded to Leslie and Cecil, and whispered, "Good job, boys. You stay behind and clean up the mess. Remember the plan – catch up with us later." Gareth, Potato and Tells proceeded onward, leaving the two of them behind.

Surreptitiously, the two studied each other as they dragged the bodies to a nearby broom closet. Both were immaculate, with no blood on their paws at all. With Cecil, it was understandable, as he hadn't gotten his paws dirty, but the white mouse hadn't seen the other draw any kind of weapon or even sheathe it afterwards. It made the hairs on the back of Cecil's neck stand on end. Seeing this, a look of amusement crossed Leslie's face before it settled back into its usual blankness.

Before closing the closet door, Cecil pulled the boots off the mouse he'd killed. "What are you doing?" Leslie hissed.

"It's a decent pair of boots. Who am I to waste an opportunity?" Leslie watched as Cecil tied the bootstraps together and slung them over his shoulder. "Now come on – we have to wipe up the the blood and catch up with the others."

Thankfully, they both had a few rags on them, so they didn't have to go find a mop. They stuffed the rags behind a curtain and ran to catch up.

~~~oOo~~~

Unseen by the two henchmice, someone stood just around the corner in one of the corridors as they stuffed the bodies out of sight. As they dashed away to rejoin their comrades, the other, too, slipped away, a mission in mind.

~~~oOo~~~

The others were almost at the display case when Cecil and Leslie joined them. Gareth acknowledged them with a silent nod, and the group continued on their way. As they entered the room where the ruby was kept, Ratigan's team came in from the other door, almost simultaneously. The boss' timing was nothing if not perfect.

Ratigan drew a sharp breath at the sight of the ruby. "Beautiful," he sighed, and all the other mice couldn't help but agree. It was like a drop of sparkling blood, captured in a crystalline form.

Ratigan reached forward and took hold of it, cradling it gently in his paws as he wrapped it up in paper and replaced it with a fake – simple thing of red glass. It wouldn't stand up to inspection – Gareth could tell from three feet away. It was mainly to mock the curator and the Romanian ambassadors.

The boss turned to face the doors, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Where is Team Two?"

All the mice in the room stiffened, for it was true – if they hadn't run into trouble, Max's team would have been here by now.

"Group A, remain here while Group B returns to the hideout. If Team Two doesn't come here in ten minutes, go look for them and get them out of whatever has held them up. The original plan still applies." Gareth nodded his assent, and those in Group B turned to leave.

They didn't have to wait ten minutes. Mice in uniform burst through the double doors at the front of the room. "Police! Put your hands in the air!" Some mice fought while the majority of Group B made their escape. Blood and smoke was in the air – Cecil and Leslie used their talents to kill a number of officers, occasionally exchanging glances in the chaos. Professor Ratigan was halfway out the door when the surprise arrived.

A figure in a long coat and a distinctive hat strode into the room. "Ratigan!" he barked. "You're not getting anywhere near that ruby!"

Ratigan froze in his tracks and turned around. Basil of Baker Street stood there, in the middle of the room. And the pure hatred that rose to his features caused many of the combatants to stand shaking in their shoes.

You see, Mister Basil of Baker Street was a very clever mouse. But he was not an expert in everything, as he liked to pretend. A genius like Ratigan could tell from the way the light hit the counterfeit that it was, indeed, a false ruby, but Basil was no genius. If he had been, Ratigan might have liked him, and considered him a friendly rival. But, as the case may be, he was not a genius, merely clever. And that mouse, who was _merely very clever_, had stopped Ratigan on numerous occasions. Ratigan could not stoop to being beaten by anything less than pure genius, and the fact that this _merely clever_ mouse was beating him again and again enraged him beyond anything else.

And so that was why Ratigan, the real ruby still his jacket pocket, turned around and joined the brawl, pulling out his gun and launching himself at Basil.

And so the fight continued, fiercer and more deadly than before. And only the eye of a white mouse in the midst of the clamor saw a small package fall from Ratigan's jacket and clatter to the floor. A white hand swooped to the floor, snatching the package up, before the hand's owner returned to the fight.

~~~oOo~~~

The battle lasted for hours, and the criminals eventually scattered and fled, leaving many dead policemen behind, and not a single one of them so much as captured. The curator howled with anguish when the fake was discovered, and Basil cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

All in all, the law had been successfully broken that night, but Ratigan had returned to the hideout in a dark mood, which only worsened when he discovered the ruby missing.

"That piece of dog shit! I'll kill him!" Ratigan howled as he smashed the top of his desk. All his henchmice were cowering in hidden corners, and wondering why Cecil was still out in the open. Was he insane?

Cecil had contemplated taking off with the ruby, but decided against it. It wasn't worth being hunted down and killed. So Cecil spoke up, in a calm voice. "Boss," he said pointedly.

Ratigan whirled around, rage in every fiber of his body, towering over the much smaller Cecil. Gareth, Tells, and Leslie all cringed, believing they were about to witness their new friend's bloody demise.

The white mouse held out his hand with the package in his palm, apparently perfectly serene in the face of the raging storm. "You dropped it during the fight," Cecil said in a matter-of-fact tone.

The world seemed to freeze.

And then Ratigan straightened his back, the only clues that anything had happened being the smashed desk and the calculating glance he threw at Cecil. "Ah, I see. Excellent work, Cecil." He plucked the ruby from the henchmouse's hand, opening the package eagerly to make sure it was the real one. All the others in the room breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, what exactly happened to Maxwell and the others?"

Gareth spoke up. "We got them back, boss. The police had 'em held up at gunpoint. Apparently the Bonnie of Baker Street tipped them off as to what we were doing. He heard 'bout the ruby, and staked 'imself out in the museum."

Ratigan snarled and cursed again, but quickly relaxed. "Ah, no matter. At least we have the ruby. You've all done good work tonight, boys. And I believe Cecil here has more than earned his place in our ranks."

The men cried out in a cheer, the pink champagne was broken out, and much celebration was had for another successful heist. Cecil, after a few hours, made his excuses and left the party for Doctor Jones' rooms.

The doctor looked up from his tea as the white mouse entered. "Ah, Cecil. The heist was successful, I take it?"

"Indeed," Cecil nodded. Then, hesitantly, he added, "Doctor Jones, I have something very important to tell you, not just because I believe we've gotten to be friends, but especially since you're the surgeon here. Can you keep a secret?"

Unbeknownst to Cecil and the good doctor, another pair of ears had lent themselves to the conversation, via an empty glass on the other side of the wall.

**Next up! - Volume III: The Secret of Cecil Burns**


	3. Chapter 3

_Volume III: The Secret of Cecil Burns_

Cecil fiddled with a teacup as Doctor Jones poured some cream. The doctor gave him a reassuring look, and settled comfortably back in his chair, motioning for Cecil to continue.

The white mouse swallowed nervously, and began to speak. "I suppose I don't know quite know how to begin. But one thing's for sure, doctor, and it is this – I'm not quite who I've said I am."

~~~oOo~~~

Ratigan was now very glad that he had decided to have the doctor's quarters moved next to his office – sitting in a chair by the wall, with a glass to his ear, he didn't even have to strain to hear what was being said.

Not quite what he'd said he was, eh? This mouse would soon find that nothing, absolutely _nothing_ was hidden from Ratigan by his own men. The king of crime nearly bristled at the very thought. This upstart would be made an example of, he would see to it! Already, Ratigan was thinking of tortures and hideous, lethal punishments that could be inflicted on Cecil Burns.

~~~oOo~~~

"That's not to say that everything I've said has been a lie – almost everything I've said has been the truth, save a few details." Cecil fidgeted. "I just – I'd like to be sure you won't tell anyone. And I mean _anyone_. I'd also like to be sure that you won't judge me for this."

"My boy, surely you know you can trust me -"

"Swear it."

Somewhat surprised, Doctor Jones nodded slowly and said, "I swear on my life that I won't reveal your secret. Or judge you for it," he added.

Cecil relaxed slightly, and gulped. "The thing is, doctor – my name isn't actually Cecil."

~~~oOo~~~

On the other side of the wall, Ratigan waited, with a grin on his face so hideous and terrible that it would terrify any mouse who had the misfortune to walk in. He had him now! What was his real name? Did he plan to betray him? He would slaughter him for this deception! He would draw and quarter him – carve out his entrails for all of London to see! The Lord of Mousedom's Underworld was practically tingling with anticipation. No one _ever _betrayed Ratigan and got away with it!

~~~oOo~~~

"It's Katherine. Katherine Burns."

~~~oOo~~~

It took him a moment to realize what he'd just heard. In that moment, you could've heard a pin drop in his office, he was so still.

When the realization hit, Ratigan was stunned at first, and then furious that he hadn't seen it before. It was all so obvious now!

He – she, he corrected himself – began speaking again, and Ratigan leaned back in to listen.

~~~oOo~~~

"My family has always been involved in crime, for many generations now. Our lives practically revolved around it – you won't hear the name Burns spoken of in any British underground circles, but we used to go by a lot of different names – Burnett, Bourbon, and Bentham being just a few. But when Mousetoria became Queen, things became much more difficult for us. London soon got its own police force, complete with detectives, and it became harder to keep up a life of crime in secret. Many of my aunts and uncles fled to Europe, spreading the family business there. My father stayed in England, and chose to live on the straight and narrow, so that he could act as my family's last contact in Britain.

"My brother Balthazar and I grew up respectably, in a house in Kensington. Balthazar had a fencing teacher, and when we were young, he secretly taught me how to use a sword. But things eventually went wrong – our father died when I was ten, and his assets were seized once he was found guilty of various crimes in his past. My mother, my brother and I were all disgraced and bankrupt. Balthazar sailed to Greece, to join our relatives there and send us money. My mother and I were left to fend for ourselves, and when I was twelve, she simply went missing. There was no trace of where she could have gone – no passports, no witnesses, no records of a woman by her description were anywhere to be found. She had simply vanished into thin air, and never came back." She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"I was left on my own, with nothing to my name. I tried sending letters to my family in Europe at first, but I had no money for tickets on a ship, not even enough for a fee to cross the Channel. God's teeth, I didn't even have enough money to eat. And so I came up with a plan.

"I was lost, on the streets, and girl, no less, which made it all the more dangerous. I had to change who I was in order to stay safe. So I found myself some old boy's clothes, and I became Cecil.

"My pride wouldn't let me stoop to begging or the poorhouse, so I turned to my family's age-old tradition – crime. I tried starting out as a pickpocket, but I didn't have much talent for it at the start, and got caught far too often for my liking. At the time, I wasn't big enough to fight back, so I got very good at escaping.

"Then one day, I was stealing food from a human house, and then I saw this," she tapped the handle of her sword fondly, "sticking out of a large embroidery box. And seeing it changed my life forever. I was just playing with it at first, nostalgia bringing back memories of sparring with Balthazar. Then I brought it back home with me. And then I found myself sharpening it on a piece of steel, and before I knew it, I was carrying it around with me as a sword. I made the sheath and my belt out of a piece of lost leather from a tanner's place, and started hiring myself out as a mercenary mouse. I was surprised at how good I was – Balthazar had never called me skilled. But I pressed on, and in a few years, I was making quite a pretty penny." Katherine smiled wryly. "It's been quite the life. I'm nineteen now, and you're the first mouse I've ever told."

Doctor Jones took a long, deep breath. His eyes were wide. "That's...quite a story. I'm astonished you have made it this long without anyone finding out."

"A few did – by accident, not by themselves, and they're dead now. I killed them." Katherine's eyes were hard and cold. "Two people can keep a secret very easily. Even better if one of them is dead. You would do well to remember that, Doctor. I like you a great deal, and hold you in high regard, even consider you a friend, but I am not a gentle person, nor do I easily forgive." The white mouse leaned forward to put down her cup of tea. "My telling you this secret means that I trust you. Very much. I am also trusting that you won't _betray_ my trust. Tell me, Doctor, am I _right_ to place my trust in you?" Katherine tilted her head, indicating that she wanted an answer.

Hastily, Doctor Jones nodded, his over-large ears shaking in fear. Katherine nodded in acceptance; she sat back and sighed. "I'm sorry for frightening you, Doctor Jones. I don't want things to be bad between us. I've been Cecil for so long, my identity as a henchmouse has become like armor. I hardly know anymore where the act ends and I begin. I feel like a crab who's just poked a hole in his shell, leaving my vulnerability exposed, and I'm dead terrified that it's going to bite me in the back. And yet, after all this time, I'm still relieved – I've been desperate for someone else to know for far too long."

The medical mouse gulped and nodded, slowly regaining his composure. "And, er, what should I call you?"

"Cecil, or Mister Burns, in front of others. In private, you can call me Katherine. When I'm sure we're alone, I'll nod my head twice. If I think someone's listening, I'll shake it three times. Understand?"

Jones nodded. He had an excellent memory, even when he was being scared witless.

"Good." Katherine stood up, as if to leave. "And Doctor Jones?"

He swallowed, wondering what else she was going to threaten him with. "Er, yes?"

"Thank you, for being an honest and trustworthy mouse. You don't meet many of those in my line of work." Katherine smiled bitterly, and turned away, closing the door behind her.

David Solomon Jones breathed a heavy sigh as she left. Katherine Burns was a terrifying woman, to be sure. Then again, Ratigan was quite a powerful and frightening individual himself. The question was, did he fear Katherine enough to be willing to keep a secret from Ratigan? Or was he more afraid of his current captor? The big-eared mouse weighed his options. On one hand, he was totally in Ratigan's power, and it would be beyond difficult to keep a secret from the genius. And on the other hand, Katherine was the only one he had encountered since being first imprisoned here who had been kind to him at all, and she had even protected him from the others. Before he knew that she wasn't Cecil, he had hoped that the white mouse might help him escape – but now he knew the truth, and knew that she was in no position to help him. She was already in a precarious situation as it was, having a secret identity and all.

And so Doctor Jones found himself facing a dilemma. He could either betray his new, strong friend, thereby gaining a dangerous enemy, or risk being thrown into the jaws of a cat for keeping a secret from Ratigan. A difficult choice, to be sure.

~~~oOo~~~

As Ratigan removed his ear from the glass, he couldn't help but ponder the many answers to the question that was Cecil Burns.

He had heard of the Burns family before, but by the name of Belfast – indeed, they had been very prominent in criminal circles before Mousetoria had inherited the throne. The power gap they had left behind, among many other things, had contributed greatly to Ratigan's own rise to power. And now the very last member of the family left in England was working for him, as little more than a common thug.

Ratigan snorted in disbelief. It was truly a farce – a situation worthy of a Shakespearean comedy. A woman, dressing as a man, and living a thrilling life of crime! It was almost ludicrous.

Inwardly he berated himself, as he began to realize that the evidence had always been there, and he simply hadn't seen it. The sophisticated vocabulary, the high-pitched voice, her short stature and preference for privacy: everything had pointed to her secret from the beginning.

The professor found that he had to admire Katherine's ruthlessness – the eloquent phrasing of her threat had surprised him, and Ratigan found that he could easily imagine her being in a powerful position if her family had decided to stay in England. An elegant Duchess in the court of London's underworld, orchestrating crimes with the same cool ease as when embroidering an altarcloth.

It came as a surprise to Ratigan that he could so easily imagine her having long hair, wearing a dress and acting feminine. She would have been beautiful. Judging from what he'd seen of her hair from under the cap she wore, it matched the color of her fur, and was naturally curly – he could visualize it falling in ringlets to frame her face, perhaps pinned back in a swirling French braid. And she might wear a pale green ball gown that would bring out her eyes, made of silk and its neckline cut low to just slightly accentuate her figure -

Ratigan stopped himself before he could think any further, startled at his own thoughts. _Watch yourself, Padraic – you only just found out that she is a woman! What makes you so eager? And besides, now that that little mystery is solved, one can expect that she's much more boring to you now. She's a simple henchmouse – a walking weapon! You have absolutely no reason to have an interest in her! _

He decided that he would not expose Cecil's little secret. She had no desire to conspire against him, that he knew of, and as she was the only member of her family on this side of the English Channel, she probably didn't pose a threat. Ratigan's eyes narrowed as he thought of Doctor Jones. Him, however, he might have some words for.

_Katherine Burns_. Quietly, he whispered the name – it rolled off his tongue like he had been waiting to say it his whole life. The name Cecil didn't suit her anyway; it was quick and smooth, like the strokes of a sharp pencil – a pickpocket's name. Katherine was strong, fierce and fiery. And yet – Ratigan could see her in his mind's eye, standing at some high-society luncheon, acting shy and demure. He had noticed her kindness to the surgeon; there was a softer side of her, too, he was quite sure. Katherine would be too harsh a name for a friend to use with her, for her family to use with her – when she turned her kind eyes to them, calling her Katherine would be too formal. Ratigan mulled over this thought, and at last settled on a name. _Kate_, perhaps, might be suitable for an admirer to call her.

He had to, albeit grudgingly, admit that he admired her. In the last few days alone, she had proven herself to be of excellent wit and capability. But Ratigan would not let her inspire any sort of lustful or amorous desires in him – he was the Master Criminal, he could not afford to become distracted!

He stood up and dusted himself off. He needed to have a conversation with Jones – the heat in the room was getting stifling.

~~~oOo~~~

The door slammed open, startling the poor surgeon and sending him cowering under the chair. A large hand seized him roughly by the nape of the neck. "Did you really think you could keep a secret from me?" a voice hissed, and Jones found himself face-to-face with Ratigan.

"I – I, ah," Jones stammered.

"You will answer me when I speak to you!"

"I – I'm sorry, sir! I – I didn't mean to -"

Ratigan threw him to the ground in disgust; Doctor Jones whimpered with pain as his ribcage connected with the edge of the table. "You are lucky that this is of little consequence to me. If this were something important, I would have you skinned from head to toe, roasted on a spit, and fed to Felicia. Count yourself fortunate that I have found out now, rather than later, when it might have affected me badly." Ratigan seized him by the lapels of his coat and held him up against the wall, feet dangling from the air. His lips were curled into a terrifying snarl. "Next time, you _will_ tell me. You will not keep the secret for longer than a second before coming to inform me, and heaven help you if you tell anyone else before myself. Understand?"

Jones hastily nodded, and Ratigan released him, carelessly dropping him into the seat of his armchair. "You are not to tell Miss Burns of my knowledge of this," he ordered. "Act as though you have told no one. And if you let her know," Professor Ratigan's lips curled into a terrible smile: "on your own _head_ be it."

And then he left, closing the door behind him as if nothing had happened. Only the Doctor's heavy breathing, the pain in his shoulders and ribs, and a few broken teacups were left of his outburst. But Ratigan had succeeded in making his point. Jones quivered and curled into a ball. What would become of him now?

**Next Up! - Volume IV: Cecil The Opium Dealer!**


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